Losing and Gaining
by Virodeil
Summary: She left her family, her birth land and her past to the unknown future and a mythical home of her kind. All hope seemed to be lost to her, but did she gain them back in the end? A short tale of Celebrian after released from the orcs' captivity.


Notes:

For those who await more stories about Ringil, I apologise that this is not about her. I had a sudden urge to write about Celebrian and those she would meet in Valinor, so yeah… Besides, I would like to try to point out that "sailing to the West" is not as easy or problem-solving as it sounds. Some people from those who go there to seek for healing might never reach the Elvenhome with their rhôa and fëa intact, and – I believe – all of them must struggle on the voyage there in order to preserve their fëa and also their rhôa so that they would not fail before reaching the healing promised by the land.

Hmm. Dreary, no? Well, be warned that the dreariness will take up at least half of this story… The end is hopefully satisfying.

I was more confident in writing this story, but still, some doubts linger. Please tell me what you think of this one-shot, what to improve, or perhaps what to expect in other one-shots that I probably will create in the future.

I use Sindarin here. I know, people in Aman speak Quenya, but Celebrian and her family and friends were brought up in Middle Earth, where the Elves speak mostly Sindarin and almost never Quenya. I do not provide a sufficient list of the translation of the words I use here, though (and I apologise for that); I do not have enough time…

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"Nana…"

Three voices begged her, three wretched-sounding voices from three young grown-up elleth and Ellyn. But no, they did not look like young adults anymore, more like overgrown elflings…

Which tore at Celebrian's heart all the more.

"My sons… My daughter…" she whispered, rolling her tongue in her mouth, trying to taste the words. But she could not. The vision of her family was blurry at best, dimmed by the poisons and tortures she had received from the orcs during the captivity. So why should her other senses be better? Even now she felt that she was numb to a direct touch to her skin.

"Come, my boys," she murmured, raising a trembling, weak hand – which felt as heavy as lead – towards her twin sons. They advanced as one then threw themselves at her, clutching her tight, half supporting her. Tears ran unchecked down their faces, they who had stated proudly on their fiftieth begetting day that crying was just for elflings.

_They are still elflings. They are my elflings, my dear elflings._

She hugged and kissed Elladan at first, then Elrohir. She lingered on her second son, remembering with a sinking feeling in her empty stomach that the younger of the twins must be more affected by her departure than the other, since he had always been the more sensitive from the two.

"Temporary, Elrohir. Temporary," she tried to sooth the racking form in her frail arms.

But she had no suitable words for her only daughter, her Evenstar. She had known of Arwen's fate, such as the curse of her inherited forseeing ability, and was aware that this was their last parting forever… or perhaps until the Firstborn and Secondborn were reunited again in an unmeasured future.

"Farewell, my beautiful elleth," she whispered as she combed her fingers down Arwen's loose tresses, a habit she had taken for granted. A sharp, barbed hot knife seemed to have plunged itself into her heart. She would never again feel those silky raven locks between her fingers, the ones that carried Arwen's special scent.

Every time she bade each of her children good-bye, she felt that one piece of her soul was lost, even when she still had a faint hope that one day her twins would follow her to the Farthest West. She could bear the parting no longer, yet she still had to part with one more soul, the one that had insisted to come with her.

"Keep our children safe for me, would you, my love?" she whispered to her spous, who replaced Arwen in her arms. She cried on his shoulder, into his tunic, unable to hold on her tears anymore. Now she looked more like a wretched elfling herself than Lady Celebrian of Imladris, wife of the former herald of King Ereinion Gil-Galad and daughter of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel of Lorien, who had mothered three children.

"I would and I shall, my love. Now hush and board the ship. One day we will be reunited again wherever you are," Elrond whispered. The strong, respected lord of Imladris seldom looked that vulnerable with tears running down his cheeks and his voice wavering.

The two spouses crossed the gangplank together and slipped into the cabin prepared for Celebrian in the ship. There Elron seated his wife on a chair beside the bed and kissed her one last time before, quite reluctantly, summoning Vilyarel – Celebrian's former nurse and playmate who had been her best friend since – inside to tend to her. He regretted his decision of not embarking on the journey with the love of his life, but when he reached the firm dock again and beheld the three tear-stained faces of their children, the regret was swiftly washed away. He had them still to cling to until the time was right to rejoin her.

But, to Celebrian, now all were lost.

Even Vilyarel's – forced – chattering could not bring a smile to her. The tug in her heart that she felt when the ship moved away from the dock to which it had been moored later became a throbbing ache which numbed her senses all the more. She dimly felt someone replacing her traveling attire with a nightgown and shifting her from the chair to the bed, yet the change of clothing and places mattered little. The ache remained.

For three days she languished on the bed. Vilyarel, her constant companion and faithful friend, who had even forsaken the known trees of Middle Earth to accompany her in this dreary journey, could not get her out of the state she was in; no one could, not even herself. Laughter had died out from the maiden's lips, laughter that deserved the name Lalith Celebrian had dubbed her best friend. The two never left the cabin; one lying on the bed and one slouching on the chair beside it. In meal times, the cook delivered some food and drink herself to the cabin for the two, and such times were when Vilyarel would get information about their current location and the state around the ship in exchange of information about herself and Celebrian.

It was the manner in which Vilyarel learnt that they had neared Tol Eresía. The cook came in one morning and informed her that coastline had been sighted just after dawn had broken. Although the cook had spoken enough loud for Celebrian to hear, though, the former lady of Imladris showed no response to the news – which others found at least marginally delightful.

"Is Lady Celebrian's family there?" nervously, Vilyarel spoke up.

"Her family is in Imladris, my friend," the cook murmured. When the two mournful ladies glanced sidewise to the bed, they witnessed a tear rolling down Celebrian's right cheek. Said person was capable of listening, indeed.

Sighing painfully, Vilyarel rose to her feet and bent over Celebrian to kiss her tear-stained cheek, tasting the salty trail on her lips. "I shall try to find more information, my lady. Not all are lost, believe me, please, my Silver Queen."

Then she was gone, leaving the cook to spoonfeed porridge into Celebrian's unresponsive lips as best as she could. Vilyarel herself, true to her promise, wobbled out of the cabin to get more news and – possibly – arrange some plans or course of action with the captain of the ship. She fought the nausea that gripped her from the first time she had dared to walk and the blinding light of anor with all her might, all the while planting firmly to her mind the memry of her promise to Lord Elrond that she would guard Celebrian even with her life. She would not be defeated by mere sea-sick and light-adjustment, would she?

In the end, after arguing for nearly half-an-hour with the Telerin ellon who captained the ship while still fighting not to vomit to the floor of his cabin, the sullen maiden finally snapped and, with a commanding tone that she had never thought she possessed, barked at him to halte the ship somewhere in Tol Eresía only to replenish some of their supplies and gather news and information. She remembered that Lord Finarfin, Celebrian's grandfather, lived in Valinor. Surely he would welcome his granddaughter in whatever condition she was in and care for her?

Thankfully, shocked and dazed from the bitter and biting command, the captain questioned her no more and instead walked out to follow her order. Vilyarel followed him out only after a moment. She hobbled as fast as she could to the gally, snatched a bucket, and vomited whatever inside her stomach into it. Cold sweat rolled down her temple and graced the corner of her eyes, almost as if she were crying. But her gaze, on the contrary, was hard and bright, the humorous, light-hearted nature of her kind – the Sylvan Elves – gone without a trace.

She passed the cook on her way back to the cabin she had shared with Celebrian these past three days. The cook only had to offer her the tray of small empty bowl and empty glass for her to note that Celebrian had down the meager proporsion of food in the least. "Thank you, Gilrain," she whispered weakly as they passed each other to the opposite directions. The cook only smiled drily and nodded with a long-suffering sigh – which spoke volumes to Vilyarel's ears.

"My lady," she greeted Celebrian once she had closed the cabin's door softly behind her. Celebrian was staring up to the wooden ceiling, eyes glazed but not sleeping; in fact, as long as Vilyarel knew, the poor lady had never fully been asleep during their voyage, worse than the years between the capture of orcs and the voyage. Mentally, she stored the grim detail away to hand to anyone that needed or deserved the information later.

But now, for a time, her task had ended. With a tired half-smile, she flopped down gracelessly on the chair, put her head to rest on the hard backside of it, and let sleep claimed her, sleep that had never strayed from restlessness eversince Elladan and Elrohir, faces twisted with wrath and a profound sorrow and agony, had brought back the broken form of their mother from the orc den in the Misty Mountains. _Not all are lost_, she convinced herself – or tried to.

Celebrian became less and less aware of the world around her each day. She wondered why Vilyarel had not noticed the signs of rapid fading in her but did not have the courage and strength to ask. Perhaps, after all, that best friend of hers had been trying to look away from the glaring truth they both were facing. The warmth in her body had reduced, and she could not move her limbs anymore. Now she lay just like a log, lifeless. Her open eyes saw nothing, only the memories of past, the memories she would never have a chance to relive in the future. She would lose Arwen, it was already certain from the visions she had received during the years since her daughter's birth, but now, in her hazy mind, she was also certain that she would lose Elron and her sons too to the cruel fate of Middle Earth. Her ears listened to nothing, only the weakening beats of her heart. Said heart had skipped a beat when she faintly heard Valinor and Finarfin mentioned, but the reason of such reaction eluded her.

Time seemed to crawl afterwards. She wondered why Villyarel did not touch her for any purposes; the older elleth had always found something to do with either her body, hair or clothes, even when they were aboard the ship and she was bed-ridden. She could sense Vilyarel's presence nearby. Why did she stop now, when Celebrian needed her the most? Had the ever-optimistic Vilyarel been reduced to hopelessness? But she might not! Celebrian had always been optimistic herself, and she did not want anyone else to fall this low with her, not even her best friend – and especially not said best friend indeed.

Regardless, she still craved for a touch.

So, when one was finally granted to her, she basked in it.

But it was only her initial feeling.

Later she discovered that it was not Vilyarel. Her friend's voice seemed far away, while the one nearest to her, the owner of the finger that had touched her right cheek, was a male.

A stranger ellon, as Celebrian could not identify him from any Ellyn aboard the ship that she knew, that Elrond had patiently introduced her to.

She panicked, and more so when the ellon approached her boldly and gathered her into his arms. He sat on the bed, Celebrian on his lap, and rocked her slightly back and forth as if she were an elfling, his elfling.

But why? Why did he do that? Who was he?

He felt so warm… He felt like…

Like…

…family.

She groaned, trying to get his attention. A wavering "Hush, little one" filled her left ear, the one exposed – while the other was pressed to the ellon's shoulder.

Little one?

She had only ever been called that way by her father and her mother – once, when she had been small.

Her father. Her father in Middle Earth, her tree-loving father who might never come to the Farthest West to join her.

She had lost him. She had lost all her family, her life.

Her dam broke. All the held emotions poured forth. She wept freely. All was lost.

The strong, warm arms around her waist and her neck tightened. She trembled, and so did the ellon that was holding her. Her right ear slid from his shoulder, pushed to his chest, and she was supplied by the sounds of the racing heartbeat of the ellon and his ragged breathing.

Why was he distraught? Did he know her? Did he know that she was fading? But who in the Farthest West knew her? Her mother's family? But they had been slain a long time ago in the First Age, had they not? And her father's people had never traveled that far across the sea…

"Sleep, my little one. You are safe. You are safe with me," the ellon whispered right to her left ear when the two of them had calmed a bit. A hot drop of liquid fell onto Celebrian's dry temple, and at that time she knew that he, too, had been crying silently.

"Sleep now, Celebrian. I will guard your dreams… Trust your grandfather, would you?"

Celebrian's breath hitched. Her body jerked feebly within the confine of the ellon's arms.

Her grandfather's arms?

From whose side? She had never known one from either sides…

_Hush, child. Do not dwell in thoughts. You might recall me as Finarfin in the land across the Great Sea. But now you may not think of anyone or anything. You must sleep, my little queen, and spare this old elf the torture of seeing you languish in your brooding._

The voice was so soothing, so gentle… His presence inside her mind and around her body was warm and promised safety…

_Grandfather? _Celebrian found herself back into an elfling all over again.

A smile, both mentally and physically given, was her only answer. But it was enough. The smile had reassured her that he was real, that he responded to the plea in her voice, that he was there for her.

_Not all are lost, my little queen_, he whispered.

And Celebrian believed him.

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Additional Notes:

The story ended in an unexpected place… I felt it best ended there, so here it was. But, if there is any of you who wishes to know about Celebrian's fate and her relation with the newfound family in Aman, I shall continue this story, expanding it from a one-shot into a at least three-chaptered fiction.

Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it despite the desperate atmosphere. Pardon me for any mistakes – grammatical or spelling – also, please.


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